Chapter 3: The Reckoning
The first thing Mério felt was the deep, bone-ache of cold. The second was the rough texture of wood against his knuckles. He blinked, his vision swimming into focus on the splintered grain of the watchtower door, the early morning light painting everything in shades of grey and gold. He’d slept propped against it, his hand still shoved through the knot-hole.
The fur was gone.
He yanked his hand back, scrambling to his feet so fast his head spun. He fumbled with the heavy iron bar, his heart a frantic bird in his throat. The wood groaned as he shoved the door inward.
She was huddled in the far corner, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Naked. Trembling. Her short black hair was a wild mess, stuck with leaves and bits of moss. Dried blood streaked her arms and smeared across her cheek, but he couldn't see any wounds. Her silver eyes, when they flicked up to his, were wide with a shame so profound it felt like a physical blow.
"Mayo," she whispered, her voice raspy, torn from a night of howling.
He didn't hesitate. He shrugged out of his thick flannel jacket, the movement brisk and practical, and crossed the dusty space in two long strides. He didn't look at her body, he looked only at her eyes as he wrapped the jacket around her shoulders. It swallowed her whole.
"Got you," he murmured, his big hands gently pulling the fabric closed over her front. His thumb brushed a smudge of dirt from her collarbone. "You're okay."
She shuddered, clutching the jacket lapels with white-knuckled fists, burying her face in the soft, worn fabric that smelled of pine and him. A broken sob escaped her. "The blood...?"
"Rabbit," he said simply. "From last night. You remember the rabbit?"
She shook her head, a frantic little motion. "Fragments. Sounds. The... the door. Your hand."
Before he could answer, a dry, precise sound cut through the morning quiet. Click. Click. Click.
The sound of a cane tapping against stone.
Mério moved instantly, placing his large body between Scarlett and the doorway, his muscles coiling. Elder Silas stood there, framed by the broken arch, as if he’d simply materialized from the mist rising off the moor. His long white hair was impeccably neat, his dark eyes taking in the scene with cold, clinical interest.
His gaze slid over Mério, dismissed him, and landed on Scarlett, huddled and vulnerable in Mério’s oversized jacket.
"Ah," Silas said, his voice like dry leaves skittering across stone. "The moon-touched whore returns to her mortal shell. A little worse for wear, I see."
Mério took a step forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You watch your mouth, old man."
Silas’s smile was a thin, bloodless line. "Or what, lumberjack? You'll break me like one of your trees?" He tapped his silver-tipped cane once on the threshold. "I warned the council. I warned them all. We allow this… sickness to fester among us, and it will be our undoing. She is a beast. A danger. Her very nature is a corruption."
"She's a person," Mério growled, the words low and guttural.
"Is she?" Silas’s eyes gleamed. "Look at her. Covered in the evidence of her night's work. How long before her hunger turns from rabbit to something… larger? How long before a child goes missing from the village?"
Scarlett made a small, wounded sound behind him.
"That's enough," Mério said, his voice dropping, losing its heat and gaining a hard, final edge. "You're leaving."
"The village will hear of this," Silas said, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. "They will hear how I found you, Mério, consorting with the monster. They will wonder if you are touched by it, too. If your simplicity is a mask for something darker." He let the implication hang in the cold air. "Banishment is the traditional remedy. For both of you."
Mério didn't move. He stood like an oak, rooted between the threat and the woman he loved. The memory of the previous night was sharp in his mind—the fear, the trust, the way her wolf-form had settled under his touch. This old man with his ancient words and his silver cane knew nothing.
"Get off this mountain," Mério said, each word a stone. "Now."
For a long moment, Silas just stared, his ancient eyes calculating. He saw no fear in the large man before him, only a resolve as solid and unshakeable as the earth itself. He gave a slow, conceding nod.
"This is not over," he said softly, his words meant for Scarlett. Then he turned, his cane clicking a retreating rhythm on the stone, and melted back into the tree line.
The tension didn't leave Mério’s shoulders until the sound of the cane had completely faded. He turned back to Scarlett. She was staring at the empty doorway, her face pale, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime and blood on her cheeks.
"He's going to get us banished, Mayo," she choked out.
Mério knelt in front of her, his big hands covering her cold ones. He looked at her, really looked, seeing past the blood and the tremors to the fierce, independent woman he knew. The woman who was worth any curse.
"Let him try," Mério said, his voice quiet but absolute. "He don't know the first thing about us." He squeezed her hands. "Can you walk? We need to get you home."
She nodded, a flicker of her usual spirit returning to her eyes. "Yeah. I can walk." She took a shaky breath. "My sister... she'll have clothes. She'll know what to do."
"Okay." He helped her to her feet, keeping a steadying arm around her as she wobbled. She leaned into his strength, her head resting against his shoulder for a moment.
"Mayo?" she whispered.
"Yeah, Scar?"
"Thank you. For the rabbit. For the door. For... everything."
He just nodded, pulling her closer as they stepped out of the tower's shadow and into the weak, hopeful light of the new day. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but for now, they were together. It was enough.
The jacket sleeves swallowed her hands whole as they picked their way down the rocky path, the morning sun doing little to warm the chill Silas had left in the air. Every rustle in the undergrowth made Scarlett flinch, her senses still raw and stretched thin from the night. Mério just tightened his arm around her, a solid, silent bulwark against the world.
“Think your sister’s making those spiced potatoes?” he asked, his voice deliberately light. “The really crispy ones.”
A weak, grateful laugh escaped her. “You’re thinking about food right now?”
“Always,” he said, a simple truth. “And you need to eat. You’re shivering.”
It was more than the cold. The shame was a visceral weight in her gut, a familiar companion after every transformation. She remembered the metallic taste of the rabbit, the primal thrill of the hunt, and felt bile rise in her throat. She focused on the feel of his flannel against her skin, the scent of him that the jacket held, anchoring her to this moment, to her humanity.
“He’s not going to stop, Mayo,” she said quietly, the words barely a whisper. “He’s been waiting for an excuse like this for years.”
Mério kicked a loose stone from their path. It clattered down the hillside, startling a bird into flight. “Let him wait. He’s just a bitter old man with a fancy stick.”
“It’s not just a stick. You know what silver does.” She stumbled over a hidden root, his grip the only thing keeping her upright. Her legs felt like water, muscles protesting the return to their human form. “The village listens to him. They’re scared.”
“They’re scared of stories,” he countered, his patience a deep, steady river. “They don’t know you. I do.”
They reached the edge of the tree line, the familiar rooftops of the outer village coming into view. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the distant sound of an ax splitting wood echoed Mério’s own trade. It was a picture of normalcy that felt a thousand miles away. She stopped, pulling him to a halt beside her.
“What if he’s right?” The question hung between them, stark and terrifying. “What if one moon, I… I can’t find a rabbit? What if the door doesn’t hold?”
Mério turned to face her, his big hands coming up to frame her face, his touch impossibly gentle. He looked at her, at the fear in her silver eyes, at the blood she’d missed wiping from her temple. “Then I’ll find a bigger rabbit,” he said, completely serious. “And I’ll build a stronger door.”
The simplicity of his answer, the absolute faith behind it, shattered the last of her composure. A sob broke from her, and she buried her face in his chest, clinging to him as the tears came. He just held her, his silence a better comfort than any words.
When her shaking subsided, he nudged her gently. “Come on, Scar. Almost there.”
They moved from the wild pines into the ordered lanes, the packed earth firm underfoot. A few early risers tending to gardens glanced their way, their eyes lingering a moment too long on Mério’s protective stance and Scarlett’s disheveled state in a man’s jacket. She kept her head down, focusing on the next step, and the next.
The small, neat cottage with its herb garden and dark green shutters was just ahead. Her sister’s home. A sanctuary. The front door was already opening, as if they’d been sensed approaching.
“He’s going to tell them everything,” Scarlett murmured, her hand finding his.
Mério squeezed it, his calloused thumb stroking her knuckles. “Let him.” He looked toward the cottage, his expression unreadable. “We’ll have our own story.”